


Nice boys don't kiss like that.

by laurawritesthings



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Kissing in the Snow, Love, Misunderstandings, One Shot, Post-Canon, Romantic Fluff, Short One Shot, Snow, based on a movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 18:38:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15564000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurawritesthings/pseuds/laurawritesthings
Summary: A post-series Jonsa one-shot inspired by Bridget Jones' Diary.





	Nice boys don't kiss like that.

**Author's Note:**

> \- A bit of fluff to get me back into the swing of things  
> \- If you have any requests for Jonsa versions of famous romantic scenes from your fave movies, TV shows, books etc. hit me up on tumblr at /mediiciis ;)  
> \- READ/REBLOG/LIKE ON TUMBLR: https://mediiciis.tumblr.com/post/176633600711/nice-boys-dont-kiss-like-that

The snow was falling heavier now, and Sansa shivered where the chill prickled her bare arms like needles.

About 10 paces away, Jon was still staring at her. Waiting for her to speak.

This had seemed like such a good idea before. When she had excitedly returned to her bedchamber expecting to find Jon, only to be met with an empty room, an open door and her childhood journal sitting by the fire, it’s contents clearly having been read by the one person who would find them most unfavorable. The one person she now loved more than anyone in the world. 

It had seemed such a flicker of genius to race out into the night after him, to track him down and explain it all away. To make him see. To forego her dress, robe or even shoes in her haste to find him before he shut himself away in his chambers or study, refusing to see or speak with her out of anger. 

So they could quickly return to the beautiful sweetness they had inhabited before - where Jon had looked at her with nothing but love in his eyes, while his touch traced delicious patterns on her skin, betraying the desire and passion humming through his body.

It had all seemed like a perfectly reasonable plan...and yet...now...

The snow was falling. The wind was howling. Jon was staring. And Sansa suddenly became aware that she was standing on the freezing, snow-covered Winterfell battlements in the dead of night, wearing nothing but her shift! 

_Seven Hells!_ she inwardly cursed, as her arms flew up to cover her almost-exposed flesh. The material was paper-thin as it was, and she just knew that in these temperatures _certain parts_ of her would no doubt be standing to attention, a feast for Jon’s eyes. 

Not that he was looking. No, his steely gaze was still on her face. As it had been since the moment she caught up to him and called out his name, turning and watching and waiting. She hadn’t exactly had a plan of what she would say once she found him. Only that she would pour her heart out, as messy and unschooled as her mouth saw fit. She assumed he would immediately accuse her of something she could instantly refute, the perfect opening for her grovelling. But no. He had said nothing. Simply waiting for her to do the talking, she gathered. Giving nothing away. No hint of how deep his anger ran or if he felt any at all, no way for her to gauge exactly the level of ire she was dealing with.

Silent and stoic, the way he always had been. 

Gods, he was so bloody difficult. 

She loved him.

‘I’m sorry!’ She suddenly blurted. The words flew from her lips without her control, and so loud and jarring were they in the symphony of winter that had cocooned them only moments before, that Jon’s eyes widened somewhat, clearly caught off guard...before skillfully narrowing as if waiting for her to continue. Or doubting the sincerity of her declaration, she did not know.

In case it was the latter, she moved forward a step. ‘I’m _so_ sorry. I didn’t mean it.’

Again, the slight furrowing of his brow told her he was listening, but that her words were somewhat unsatisfactory to his ears.

‘I mean...I _meant it_ ,’ she clumsily amended, knowing that honesty would be the surest way to Jon’s forgiveness. That he would respect that far more than a barefaced lie. ‘But...’ she rambled desperately, as the quiet awkwardness dragged on. ‘I was so stupid...that I didn’t mean...what I meant.’ 

She grimaced at her own lack of eloquence, and shifted uncomfortably, wincing and jumping slightly when her bare toes sank into the snow beneath her. 

Sansa tried for an uncomfortable smile next. But when Jon’s face remained unmoving and impassive, she sighed and flung her arms out in a helpless gesture.

‘Gods, Jon,’ she groaned, no longer caring that the action left her fully on display. Jon didn’t seem to notice either way where her arms were. His eyes were penetrating hers, as if he could tunnel through to the truth beneath if he waited long enough.

Sansa’s hands dropped as her entire body sagged in defeat, and her tone softened. 

‘It’s only a diary,’ she told him, the fight leaving her with every moment he didn’t speak. Had she really ruined everything? Was this all over before it had even begun? ‘Everyone knows that diaries are just...full of crap.’

Another thirty seconds of agonizing silence passed and then...Jon’s lips began to curve upward into a crooked smile. Sansa’s heart leapt as a flicker of mirth crept into his eyes. 

‘I know that,’ he finally said, his low voice sending a shiver of a very different kind thrumming through her bones. 

‘I was just...’ He reached into his cloak and retrieved a thick roll of parchment, ‘getting you some fresh parchment from Maester Wolken’s study.’ He fixed his eyes back on her, and Sansa's belly dipped when she saw that the tenderness and affection had returned to them, blazing now like the heat of a roaring fire. ‘Time to make a new start, perhaps?’

Sansa was so overwhelmed with happiness, that the next thing she knew she was hurtling forward and throwing herself into his arms. Jon chuckled as her bare and trembling skin came into contact with the glorious softness of his furs, and she nuzzled her nose into the material covering his shoulder as her grateful arms enveloped him tight. 

Wrapped in the warmth of Jon’s cloak, in the scent of his skin and the feel of his body against and around her, Sansa had quite forgotten that she was almost naked, until Jon’s warm hand suddenly snaked around and grasped her bottom, sending delicious shudders shocking through her system.

She lifted her head and met his eyes, their noses grazing as Jon’s gaze slowly dipped and his body hardened in all the right places, letting Sansa know _unequivocally_ that he was now fully aware of just how little she was wearing. 

Sansa trembled as his eyes swept over her hardened nipples, while his hand continued to grip and caress her behind, heating her skin to almost feverish temperatures even as the snowstorm raged around them. 

‘Oh!’ A startled voice suddenly sounded from the end of the battlements. 

Sansa yelped as hurried footsteps slipped and slid on the icy surface of the wooden floor and Jon’s hold on her tightened protectively and possessively. She ducked and buried her blushing cheeks against Jon’s chest yet again as the heat of his cloak suddenly surrounded her, hiding her from sight, and the flustering voice rambled on behind them. ‘Sorry, Your Grace! My Lady. Sorry...I was...uh, sorry!’

Sansa tried to summon a shred of sympathy for the poor guard who had innocently been trying to complete his nocturnal perimeter check before stumbling upon an obstacle he clearly wasn’t expecting to find. But all she could feel was shame at her own state of undress.

Thank the Gods she had not seen the face of the young man, for she knew she would never be able to look on it again without blushing. 

She groaned into Jon’s chest, only to hear him chuckle. She lifted her head, ready to curse him for being so cavalier in such a moment, but the second their eyes locked heat flooded her body and she quickly forgot herself once again. Forgot where she was, _who_ she was, and who could so easily find them if they weren’t careful.

None of that mattered. Only the way Jon was looking at her. The way it felt to be wrapped up in his cloak and heat like this. And the way she needed to feel his lips on hers more than she needed her next breath. 

So she took them. 

Leaned forward and planted her mouth on his. 

Just like that.

Jon was still for a moment, clearly stunned by her sudden movement. But then it was like he _melted_ beneath her, folding her into himself so thoroughly that they were no longer two beings, but one. Not a stitch of space or air between them. He quickly took over. His arms and hands gripping her tighter and the pressure of his lips increasing, tracing hers like he was committing the shape of them to memory. 

Sansa threaded her fingers through his damp curls, the dark locks strewn with snowflakes just as she knew her own mane of red hair must be...and then sighed in bliss, her entire body relaxing under his ministrations. But a jolt of surprise raced through her when Jon took advantage of her lips parting...and suddenly, his tongue was in her mouth!

The feel and taste of him was surprisingly pleasant, as was the way he basically _plundered_ her mouth, sending crackles of heat to Sansa’s fingers and toes. And when his tongue touched hers, it was like her body turned to liquid and the fire in her limbs shot to the very center of her, pooling low and delicious in her belly. 

‘Hmmph,’ she sputtered, as she pulled free from him, breathless and ragged and feverish from head to toe. Jon’s eyes were blazing, his gaze still on her mouth, as if he couldn’t wait to get back in there.

‘Wait a minute,’ Sansa teased breathlessly. ‘Nice boys don’t kiss like that.’

Jon's eyes shot to hers and his mouth curved in the most delicious, wicked grin she had ever seen on his lips, or anyone elses, for that matter. This smile was all Jon. Dark and broody and silent Jon, who was still on the surface...but downright _sinful_ when it came to his touch, his lips, his kiss...

This smile was like a secret that only she was allowed to know, a treasure only she held the key to.

‘Oh yes they fucking do.’

And then he was on her again, his tongue sweeping into her mouth as her body lit up, her desperate hands clutched his undershirt beneath his furs, and his cloak engulfed her in soft, beautiful heat. 

The snow swirled around them and the howling winds screamed their song beyond the caste walls, and yet Sansa felt as if she was made of flame, like she was being kissed by fire itself.

And suddenly her diary, sitting in her chambers where Jon had left it floors below, seemed a thousand leagues away from them.


End file.
